


Fearing To Attempt

by katrinajg



Series: Our doubts are our traitors [2]
Category: Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Adam did not get the Spokes in Two Wheels achievement, Gen, Sarif should've been at the Apex Center, during and post-Protecting the Future, further talk about Adam's messed up augs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10060532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katrinajg/pseuds/katrinajg
Summary: Maybe he was wrong calling his dream dead. Sure, hiscompanywas, but thedreamhad always been human-controlled evolution. Sarif can't say he agrees with Nathaniel Brown on Rabi'ah, but good aug press is hard to come by these days and the Human Restoration Act needs to die. Though, for a place with 'Safe' in the title, it's anything but.A dozen different expressions flicker across Brown’s face before he settles back on his polite smile. “Interpol arrived about a half-hour ago, with new information on a possible attack on this gathering, your Mr. Jensen among them,” Brown replies, voice low. “I tried to explain that I’ve taken all their reports very seriously and that this building has been checked a dozen times over, by their London division no less, but they weren’t to be dissuaded.”(This is sort of a 'fix-it' since we don't see Sarif at the Safe Harbour Initiative, even though he talks about going and Brown mentions Sarif talking about Adam.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Since the release of Mankind Divided, my previous story, 'Question With Boldness', is no longer cannon compliment and I’ve retooled this series to exclude it.
> 
> _Our doubts are traitors,_   
>  _and make us lose the good we oft might win_   
>  _by fearing to attempt._
> 
> _-Measure for Measure (1.4.84)_

Sarif stands on one of the upper levels of the Apex Centre with his back to the spectacular skyline of London as he slowly swirls the remaining champagne in his glass. He’s watching a pair of Tarvos security personnel speak in low tones across the room. There’s something about them that’s off; something that’s off about the whole security detail. 

He'd spied a few discrete militarily augments on several of the men, and Sarif knows that Tarvos is vocally and proudly anti-aug. Of course, it’s hard to deny the usefulness of many augmentations, so it wouldn't surprise him in the least if they were raving hypocrites, but… that isn’t it. His gut is telling him something is wrong; it’s in the stance of those Tarvos guys, and it was in the strained smile of Nathaniel Brown when he greeted Sarif a half-hour ago.

Soon, the VIP members of this gathering will congregate to listen to Brown speak about his work on Rabi'ah and against the Human Restoration Act. Though there are many people here tonight, those VIP’s are the truly influential members of the group: the representatives of nations, UN council members, wealthy philanthropists, and influential lobbyists—the movers and shakers of the world that will ultimately decide the fate of augs. 

Included in the VIP group, are also a couple experts on the 3-D printing technology that they are using to construct Rabi’ah to answer any questions about it and basically fawn over its genius, and then there’s him. David Sarif, former head of Sarif Industries; now bankrupt and defunct—same might be said of him if not for Darrow's last gift. 

In the course of the last couple of years, Sarif has become one of the most easily recognizable augs on earth. There are plenty of others, of course: celebrities, athletes, philanthropists… but if you want someone to talk succinctly and passionately about augmented individuals and their rights, to advocate for peaceful resolutions to the chaos currently engulfing the world, there aren’t many left who can do so without the stigma of an activist group behind them—most notably on this side of the world, Talos Rucker. 

Though, being dead makes it hard to give a speech.

Sarif has flat out refused to get involved in the augmented movement that way—he knows all to well how the Illuminati manipulates groups like that and he's better off as a free agent. And though that means he doesn’t have the protection of a group to fall back on, his close ties to Hugh Darrow and his involvement in saving lives at Panchaea have bought him somewhat of a safe-haven from the ire of the non-augmented populace. 

Ironic, that the very man who has caused this situation is one of the reasons he is spared its full wrath now. 

Tonight, Sarif is Brown's ‘show pony’ for the nation reps, council members, and lobbyists. His very presence speaks more on behalf of what they’re fighting against than any words he or Brown could come up with. Sarif is a prime example of the kind of aug Rabi’ah is being built for and the kind of aug that Human Restoration Act would harm: a stable member of his community, (previously) successful, augmented because of an accident beyond his control—not ‘selfishly’ augment as some might say—, and an aug who never lost his mind during the Incident. 

Not that Sarif has bought into the elitist bullshit that Brown is subtly pushing, but until the Act is voted down, no aug is safe and that’s more important right now. After they’re protected (as temporary as it likely will be) from being legally ripped apart and controlled, Sarif will focus on ending gulags like the Útulek Complex. That said, Sarif is fairly certain that Brown believes that Rabi’ah will help ease tensions around the world and become a showcase for future city living; the man just has to be very careful that it doesn’t turn into another ‘Golem City’.

Unfortunately, 'fairly certain' is about the level of trust he can give any one person these days. Because of Panchaea, the Illuminati, and Hugh Darrow, Sarif is hard pressed to say he truly trusts anyone anymore. Doubt lingers far longer than it used to and because of it, he tries to let others hold the aug rights spotlight, with their media spin conferences and interviews with Eliza Cassan. He hasn't given up on the exciting prospect of human-controlled evolution, but Sarif has come to realize that sometimes it's better to be the man just beyond the range of the spotlight instead of fully in it. 

Quality versus quantity was a practice he long ascribed to in business and it works just as well it comes to pulling out his soap box.

Sarif drains his champagne glass and sets it down on the passing tray of a server. He’s offered another but declines. There will be more champagne to toast at the VIP gathering and unfortunately, alcohol plays hell with his augmentation rejection these days. He had his monthly dose of Neuropozyne before he left Detroit, but Sarif knows that he'll have a hell of a headache tomorrow. 

The Tarvos security he's been watching for last few minutes have their attention caught by something further away in the room, and Sarif follows their gaze to a young woman in a Santeau uniform trotting down a short section of stairs. She pauses, looking about the room, and then heads in his direction once she spies him. The two Tarvos security guards watch her walk across the room with a calculating interest that set a prickly sensation rippling along the back of Sarif's neck. Something is not right with those men. 

The young woman introduces herself and announces that it was time for the VIP guests to gather for Mr. Brown's main presentation. She gestures for Sarif to follow her and the prickly sensation of trouble stays with him all the way to the elevator. 

He and a few people that the young woman has wrangled ride down a few floors and then follow another Santeau employee down a hall with a digital canopy showcasing a memorial for Panchaea. Sarif has to look away from the blazing blue and white photograph of that place because if he doesn’t, he’ll be flooded with nightmares from that hellish experience and these days those are relegated to a few sleepless nights a week. Thankfully, the canopy is short and they quickly arrive at the center’s Executive Lounge. 

Inside, the US delegate to the UN, Sam Jackson, waves him over. The man is standing with the Canadian and Mexican delegates—judging from the flag pin on the latter's lapel. Sarif met the Canadian delegate, Cassandra Paslawski, at a previous function several years ago now when he was still Sarif Industries. The Mexican delegate is unknown to him but greets Sarif with a hearty handshake as Jackson introduces him as Aníbal Huerta. 

They talk briefly about the state of aug relations in North America and the prospect of a favourable vote in UN before Brown makes his appearance in the room. The din of conversation dies for a moment as the guests expect the evening’s program to start now that their host has arrived, but Brown makes a quick announcement informing the guests that they are still waiting on a few people, and the conversations resume. 

After a few moments of idle conversation, Sarif excuses himself from the North American delegates and makes his way over to Brown. Something's wrong with the way the night is playing out and he needs Brown to be straight with him about it.

“How are our North American compatriots?” Brown asks as Sarif joins the small group of aides and security personnel hovering around the man.

“Good. They’re optimistic about the vote,” Sarif replies before he turns to Brown’s chief aide. “I need a moment with, Mr. Brown.” The man looks up from his pocket secretary and then to Brown, who gives Sarif a look before waving the aid and the security personnel slightly off.

“Something bothering you, Mr. Sarif?”

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing. Got this feeling that things aren’t quite what they seem to be around here tonight.”

Brown gives a smile and a nod to someone behind Sarif before he focusing his attention back on him. “I didn’t peg you as a man who got nervous before a speech.”

Sarif raises an eyebrow but keeps the look of displeasure off his face. There are a lot of eyes on them right now. “Before a speech? Not really, no. If there’s a bunch of security guards from an anti-aug organization walkin’ around with military-grade augs? That _does_ make me a bit wary. There somethin’ I should know?”

A dozen different expressions flicker across Brown’s face before he settles back on his polite smile. “Interpol arrived about a half-hour ago with new information on a possible attack on this gathering, your Mr. Jensen among them,” Brown replies, voice low. “I tried to explain that I’ve taken all their reports very seriously and that this building has been checked a dozen times over, by their London division no less, but they weren’t to be dissuaded.”

“Seems like there’s somethin’ to their concerns, after all.”

“What? Because you believe you saw military augments? Am I supposed to trust your sight over half-a-dozen reports filed just this morning on the security of this place?”

Sarif narrows his eyes and fights to keep his hands from landing on his hips in annoyance.

“Please remember to keep your expression pleasant, Sarif. We are well watched tonight,” Brown says just before he greets a passing delegate. 

Sarif shakes the man’s hand as well, giving him his best smile. When he’s gone, Sarif turns back to Brown. “Don’t condescend to me, Brown. I’ve spent my life designing, installing, and looking at augments. Clothing and clever hairstyles aren’t enough to disguise them from me. If Interpol is here, if _Adam_ is here, the threat is credible.”

“Which is why they’re currently doing their own sweep of the building, but I can’t afford, _we_ can’t afford to put this night on hold. Not with the vote so close.” Brown sighs. “If every single threat were to be heeded throughout history, no progress would’ve ever been made. We’ll simply have to trust Interpol to do their jobs, while we do ours.”

Sarif can’t argue with that assessment of the situation. He plasters a winning smile on his face and says, “Giddy up.”

//

If there’s one thing Adam can do, it’s make an entrance. The man has a hell of a presence. Of course, barking out that their champagne is poisoned after bursting into the room is a show-stopper regardless of who delivers it.

Around Sarif, several people drop their champagne glasses, as if simply holding the flute might poison them, and they shatter on the ground. Brown seems to be more concerned that it’s a waste of champagne than that it’s poisoned, which will probably be amusing in a week or so when the night starts to fade into memory. For his part, Sarif is simply glad that he doesn’t have to drink another glass to keep up appearances. Perhaps he’s a little too jaded about the whole situation, but he’s had plenty of experience with crises lately and he can’t muster much shock for this one.

He sets his flute down on a nearby table as Adam makes a beeline for Brown. Sarif joins them, noting with concern that Adam has flecks of blood on his face and coat. It’s a detail that head of Brown’s security detail notes as well and slides in close to protect Brown.

Adam registers Sarif’s presence with some surprise, but he quickly addresses Brown. "You and your guests need to get out of Apex Centre now, Brown. Slater’s dead. Tarvos is compromised. They’ve come to stop you,” Adam says, voice urgent and rushed. “Can you get everyone to the helipad?”

“Yes- Yes, of course. My security team will escort us—" Brown looks to the head of his security and the man nods, leaving to brief the other members of the detail, “—but what about the other attendees?”

From the corner of his eye, Sarif notes a few of the UN delegates moving toward them. He picks Jackson out from the group and holds up a hand in a gesture of ‘Give us a moment.’ Jackson doesn’t look like he’s about to respect that request until Ms. Paslawski grabs his arm and says something to him in a low voice. Then, Jackson makes a sharp motion of agreement and rest of the delegates stand back. 

“TF29 will evacuate them,” Adam replies, look back toward the door. He’s anxious to be gone. 

“Will there be someone to meet us on the roof?” Sarif interjects quickly. There are over thirty people in this room and they don’t need to stumble into a situation that might distract Adam and TF29 from whatever threat is left.

“A team is in route. Just get everyone to safety. I’m going after the people who did this.”

“Stay safe, Adam,” Sarif says as Adam turns to leave and he gets a sharp nod in return.

Now it’s up to Brown to quickly explain the situation to the guests and for them to evacuate to the helipad. Delegates rush them both as Brown tries to talk over their panicked questions. 

“Please! Please, everyone. I have a scarcity of details myself, but we mustn’t panic,” Brown say loudly after a moment, trying to gain room’s attention. “Interpol is handling the situation and we’re to go to the helipad. When this is done, you can interrogate TF29 to your heart’s content, but we must move quickly.”

There’s a murmur of agreement that ripples through the crowd and then they all start heading to the elevator, Brown in the lead and the security personnel flanking them. Jackson moves to Sarif’s side, Ms. Paslawski and Mr. Huerta following closely behind them.

“That looked like your man, David,” Jackson says, voice low even with the din of hushed conversations around them. 

“Hasn’t been my man for a while now, Sam,” Sarif replies. Jackson is trying to probe for more information, but Sarif doesn’t have any more to give. His own speculations he’ll keep to himself.

“Does this have something to do with those ARC terrorists that bombed that train station in Prague?” Jackson presses.

“I don’t know.”

“Why would they attack this gathering?” Paslawski asks. “That would only hurt the pro-aug movement.”

 _That’s probably the point,_ Sarif thinks. 

“You’re damn right it’ll hurt them,” Jackson snaps.

Sarif is about to advise Jackson to not make any rash decisions when Huerta speaks.

“We don’t know it was them. We should wait and talk with Interpol before deciding on a course of action.”

“They don’t speak for all of us, Sam,” Sarif adds, a tired sort of smile flashing on his face for a moment. Jackson lets out a breath and nods. 

It takes 4 car loads to get everyone on the roof; Brown is in the first group, Sarif in the last. It’s a nice night in London, but this high up the wind is cold and most of them don’t have anything more than suit jackets or blazers to protect them from the chill and shivers set in quickly, so they stick close to the building’s walls. Thankfully, it’s not raining. 

A team of Interpol agents joins them shortly after they’re all on the roof. VTOL’s have been dispatched from London’s division and will arrive soon to transport them to a safe location, but Sarif knows that it will take some time to evacuate them all and wonders about the guests on the other floors.

Suddenly, a deep _boom_ vibrates through the air and a rumble shakes the building. There’s a noise of panic that ripples through the group, then a muffled cry of surprise as a shock wave blows across the helipad strong enough to knock the few people gathered around it, down. Then, two of the Apex Centre’s buildings start falling, collapsing in on themselves and crumbling as the support structures twist under the weight of a load no longer supported fully. 

There’s a moment of vertigo as Sarif watches them collapse where it feels like it isn’t the buildings across the street falling, but theirs that’s rising. It doesn’t take long for it to become abundantly clear that isn’t the case. Horror washes over Sarif as the buildings fall down and out of sight, landing in a twisted heap somewhere on the ground with an impact shakes their building again. 

_Christ,_ all those people! That hits a little closer to home than the poisoned champagne.

//

It’s the wee hours of the morning before they’re finally released by Interpol, and then by the London Police after they were detained in Interpol’s London office for a debriefing and questioning about the night’s events.

Sarif trudged wearily into his hotel suite, hardly recalling the car ride back save for the flashes of the city’s lights through the car’s windows. He pulls off his long-undone tie, dinner jacket, and kicks off his shoes, leaving a path of discarded clothing from the living area of the suite to the bedroom. He collapses spread eagle on the bedspread and stares up at the ceiling, unseeing. He’s exhausted, but still too wired to sleep; the collapsing buildings playing on a loop in his head. 

He’s not sure how long he lay there in the quiet of the room, with only the faint sound of the air circulators humming for company, when the sharp chime of the door rings through the room. It startles Sarif out of his daze and he sits up on the bed. Who would call at this hour?

“Door view,” Sarif rasps to the suite’s Smart system and the TV screen in the bedroom lights up with the requested view. Sarif stares at it in some surprise. Then, he pulls himself out of bed and heads back out into the living area, hopping over his littered clothing. He hits the unlock panel on the wall and the door slides open. 

“Adam!” he says with a pleased but tired smile. “What’re you doing here? How’d you find me?” Adam’s about to speak when Sarif continues, “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Come in, son; you look like hell.” 

That’s a huge understatement. Adam’s face his covered in several dark bruises, cuts, and scraps from what looks like a fist fight with someone with augmented hands—either that or they were wearing a pair of knuckle dusters. He’s also favouring his right side, arm tucked close to his ribs; it must have been one helluva an injury for sentinel health system to not have taken care of the pain yet.

Sarif steps back from the entrance and heads into the suite’s living space, hearing Adam’s slightly uneven steps follow him, and then the soft click of the door shutting and the lock re-engaging. 

“Could say the same about you,” Adam replies.

“But you won’t, ‘cause I don’t look like I just had a brawl with a bear. Have a seat…or is this business?” Sarif asks as he waits for some direction from Adam. If they’re going to talk about something serious, he would like the option of movement.

“I…” Adam hesitates a moment and looks about the room. “…You got a bar in this place, or what?”

“There’s a pretty decent stash of booze around here. You still drink rye whiskey?”

Adam nods and sits gingerly down on the suite’s couch. “Not sure if I’m impressed or embarrassed you remember that.”

Sarif huffs a breath of laughter as he sets about making Adam a drink. “Kinda hard to forget that night. Especially since Athene wouldn’t let me live it down.”

“About that night—”

“Forget it. I never did know when to leave well enough alone.”

“Yeah, well, what I wanted to say, if you’d let me get a word in edgewise—” Sarif deposits Adam’s drink in his hand with a small smirk and shrug as if to say, _‘Sorry. You know me, never know when to shut up,’_ and takes a seat in one of the functional but soulless chairs the room offers. “—was, thanks. For saying those things to me. I needed to hear them, if not necessarily from you.”

“Which you made abundantly clear.” 

There were a lot of dark and sleepless nights back then and Sarif often wondered if he did the right thing by going to Adam’s apartment that night. He could’ve used the confirmation back then and had one less thing to worry about, but he and Adam have always had a bit of a rocky relationship, so he's not surprised it's taken this long to hear. Still, it’s good to know.

“Because you don’t know when to leave well enough alone.” Adam’s raised eyebrow takes the sting out of that statement and after a moment, he leans back on the couch, sunglasses sliding back to reveal a pair of narrowed eyes. (Sarif can count on his hand the number of times he’s seen Adam’s augmented eyes and he thought that catching Adam in Prague, half-dressed and defences down was a fluke. Maybe it wasn’t. Perhaps he’s come to fully embrace his augmentations.) “If I wanted to drink alone, I could’ve just hit a bar.”

“Lookin’ like that?” Sarif asks with a slight smirk. “As much as I’d like to share a drink with you, alcohol and my new augmentations don’t mix well. I’ve already had my limit, tonight. I’m afraid my presence will just have to be enough.”

Adam shrugs slightly in acceptance and downs his drink a couple long swallows. The ice chips tinkle in the bottom of the glass and Sarif gets up to raid the bar again. He brings back a small bottle and pours another drink for Adam.

“That from Panchaea?” Adam asks, indicating Sarif’s left arm.

“Yeah, and a partial leg augmentation, a few ribs, a section of spine...” Adam raises his eyebrows in surprise so Sarif elaborates. “Told you I got pinned by some debris as Panchaea collapsed, almost died.” Sarif takes his seat again, setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “Was in a temporary medical facility in Alaska where I got some piece-of-shit Tai Yong augs. As soon as I returned to Detroit, I designed and manufactured my own; the last ones Sarif Industries ever made.” Sarif’s eyes cut away from Adam for a moment. “Fitting, I suppose.”

Adam takes a sip from his drink, seemingly more inclined to savour the second glass. “If you designed those augs, why’re they giving you trouble?”

Sarif let out a bark of laughter. “I’m an old man, Adam. I’ll be 59 in a couple of months, and I don’t have your affinity for augmentations nor the youth to aid the transition. Besides, these aren’t exactly your standard civilian augs…” Sarif shrugs as if to say, _‘What can you do?’_

They fall into silence after that, and Sarif can’t help but feel slightly uncomfortable in it. He doesn’t really know where he and Adam stand, or why the man is here now. It could be that he just needs a friendly face after the hellish night he clearly had, but Sarif holds no illusions about him and Adam being friends. He’s not sure what word could sum up their relationship.

“Do you buy into Rabi’ah?” Adam asks after a while. "You said before you wanted to be ready for when the world got past the Incident."

Sarif shakes his head. “Yeah, I do but that place isn't my idea of the answer to our problems. Separating augs from naturals will only fuel the fire of misunderstanding and hate. But Brown has been actively campaigning against the Human Restoration Act (and Rabi'ah is gathering a lot of good aug press). If we want to stay out of concentration camps and gulags, we have to make sure that thing never passes.”

“So…what? You were there tonight to show your support?”

“Yeah, though really it was more as a show pony for the various UN delegates and nation reps that will have a real say in how the vote goes down.”

Adam raises an eyebrow, smirk curling the edges of his mouth. “Show pony?”

“A representative of augs. I told you a before, my name still means somethin’ in certain circles, and so does my relationship with Hugh.”

“With a dead man who caused this problem in the first place?” Adam snorts, disbelief and disgust equal in his voice.

“And how many people actually know that? To the majority of the population, Hugh Darrow was the father of augments, an outspoken advocate for them despite being unable to use them himself, and was tragically killed at Panchaea. You and I know the truth, Adam, but for the rest of them? His name keeps mine from being dragged through the mud.”

“You sure it isn’t all this money you have?” Adam asks as he glances around Sarif’s expensive hotel suite. “I thought you were bankrupt.”

“I am, or at least Sarif Industries is; this is Hugh’s money, some of it anyways, and yes, having money helps. So does having people with power and influence to help you get the right papers. Right, Adam?”

“Lot of good it does in Prague.”

“Prague’s an unfortunate indicator of things to come if the Act passes in the UN." Sarif muses for a moment on something that's bothered him since Adam joined Interpol. "Though I gotta say, I find it odd that you were sent to Czech, of all places.”

“You and everyone else in TF29.”

Sarif raises an eyebrow. “You weren’t requested?”

“I was crowbarred into Prague’s division by the head of TF29 himself. I think _They_ figured I’d be easier to keep tabs on in a city that hates augs.”

“Rather than at home with allies at hand.”

Adam nods. 

Sarif considers this for a moment. “Any idea, who specifically, is watchin’ you?”

“Not really. There’s this shrink they just added to the task force that seems to be set on playing to my emotions. Could be that she’s just doing her job, or could be something more.” Adam shrugs. “Or maybe I’m just jumping at shadows.”

“I think you’re better off questioning everyone and everything.”

“Even you?”

Sarif gives him a rueful smile. “Figured you were old-hat at that by now.”

“Yeah…” Adam looks at the ice chips floating in his rye. “We were dragged into this thing together, Sarif. You started with more cards than me, but these days I figure we hold about the same number, if not the same ones.”

“So…what? You show me yours, I’ll show you mine?”

Adam’s eyes flick up to his, and a sardonic eyebrow raised. “Think we can give each other that much trust?”

Sarif looks at his augmented hands, thinking of Darrow; thinking of the last words Eliza Cassan said to him. _‘And remember David, everyone lies.’_ He wants to trust Adam, he always has, but he’s never really got there. _And whose fault is that?_ he thinks to himself. 

After a moment, he looks back at Adam. “I’d like to, son, but we’ve both been burned on that front before.”

“Just means we know the importance of having someone you can trust.”

“Look, Adam, you ever need anything, you just gotta ask. I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen, but…” Sarif trails off, glancing out at the view of London’s downtown. The city’s lights sting his tired eyes and he presses the heels of his hands into them to ease it.

“I should’ve called when I was in Detroit,” Adam says after a few moments of silence. “I guess I figured you’d call me.”

“I thought about it, but then I thought you might not wanna hear from me.” Sarif pulls his head up and looks at Adam again. “Besides, I was busy tryin’ to decide what I had to sell to Tai Yong to cover my creditors and what I needed to destroy.”

Adam’s lips curl in a slight smirk. “So…all of it?”

Sarif laughs, causing a spike of pain in his head; the beginnings of his due headache settling in behind his eyes. “If _only._ Ironically, the attack on the lab allowed me to claim that most of our experimental tech was destroyed. Which, it is now. All that’s left of it lives up here-” he taps his temple. “Though, They already got what They wanted from us.” Sarif sighs and they fell into a retrospective silence. 

“You’re in pain,” Adam states after a while, watching Sarif carefully. His shades are still retracted and Sarif hasn’t gotten a ping from his own CASIE aug so he pretty sure Adam’s observation is his own. 

“So are you.”

Adam rolls his eyes in annoyance and Sarif doesn’t believe he’s ever seen Adam do that before. It’s strange; almost like a wall has crumbled slightly between the two of them.

“It’s not as bad anymore and it’ll be gone by morning. Though, I’ll get to keep these—" Adam turns his face slightly so the bruising catches the lights of London, “—for a few days longer.”

“So who's lookin’ after your augs, then? They got someone in TF29?” Sarif asks, both curious as to how Adam has been taking care of himself and to shift the focus away. Adam gives him a look like he knows exactly what Sarif is doing, but he answers anyway.

“No…well, yeah, they have a tech who used to work at one of the L.I.M.B. clinics before the Incident, but my augs are too state-of-art for him. There’s a black-market guy in Prague that I go to. He’s the one that found all the…other augs.”

“You trust him?”

Adam shrugs. “He’s augmented too, so he’s not about do anything that might jeopardize his life, and I can’t fix them when something goes wrong. Plus, when he tried to activate my dormant augs all at once, it almost fried my brain. He could’ve let me die, but he didn’t.”

Sarif looks him in concern, mind ticking over into diagnosis mode before his mouth catches up. “Jesus Adam, what? How— They overclocked your neural processors, didn’t they? Causing a feedback loop, excess heat and energy…” He’s suddenly angry. “Fuckin’ _amatures._ Even with genes and a neural structure as pliable as yours, they could’ve destroyed your neural weave, caused permanent brain damage—” something suddenly occurs to Sarif, “Hell, maybe they did.”

“What?” Adam growls, surprised and bit angry with Sarif’s last words. It goes to show just how fragile their comradary is.

Sarif stands. He needs to think and movement helps. “You say you can’t remember most of those two years you were gone.”

Adam gives him a narrow look, still bordering on anger, but answers with a clipped, “I don’t.” 

“Those extra augs, can you use them now? All of them? Some of them?”

“Yeah. The guy I see used a neuroplasticity calibrator to integrate them properly, I have full access to them all.”

Sarif frowns, pacing. “They should’ve done that to begin with, but…maybe that was on purpose.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why would Orlov give me augs that my brain couldn’t handle without proper calibration and integration and then _not_ do just that? If we’re talking about the Illuminati messing with my augments, it doesn’t make sense that they would try and kill me with them after going through all that work.”

Sarif starts off talking slowly, trying to pull the thoughts bouncing around in his head into cogent words. “There’s a lot we still don’t understand about the brain, Adam, even though we regularly shove biochips into it to make augments work, and memory is an especially tricky area… What we do know is that when someone experiences brain trauma and has problems with memory, it isn’t ever a case of total amnesia. They don’t forget who they are. What they lose, permanently or temporarily, is the ability to form new memories. Their short-term memory is what’s affected.”

Adam eyes him somewhat in disbelief. “Are you saying that you think Orlov caused purposeful brain trauma in installing those augments so that I wouldn’t remember that time?”

“What I’m saying is, that it’s a possibility and probably not the only thing they did.” Sarif stops moving for a moment to give Adam his full attention. “Orlov was a genius when it came to augmentation design and I find it hard to believe that he installed your new augments without understanding how they might adversely affect you.” Sarif pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to push back the throbbing that has settled fiercely behind his eyes. “Even if we could scan your brain I doubt we’d see much, and you clearly don’t have trouble forming memories now, so we’ll probably never know. But I think you need to honestly ask yourself if all of your augments are the same ones I gave you.”

Adam looks at Sarif for a moment before he stands from the couch, depositing his glass on the side table and starts pulling off his jacket, wincing somewhat as the movement jostles his side. “Where?” he asks.

Sarif looks at him in slight confusion. “Where what?”

“You said that my augs have serial numbers, where are they?” 

Oh. Sarif scrambles to think of the easiest one to access. “Uh… your arms. The serial numbers for those are in the same compartment as your nanoceramic blades.”

Adam tosses his jacket on the couch and Sarif grimaces at the damage his specialty Kevlar has taken. Bullet holes, slices in the outer fabric from a sharp blade of some sort, burns along one side, and the bloody imprint of a massive fist on the other. That explains why Adam was favouring that side. There are dust and debris on his pants and when Sarif switches on the side lamp to better see, he notes dark splotches as well that are likely dried blood.

“Tell me the other guy looks worse.”

Adam smirks slightly. “Yeah. Way worse.” He extends his nanoceramic blade on his right arm, keeping the sections of his forearm separated. 

Sarif gently maneuvers Adam’s arm into the light, standing in front of him, bent over slightly as he tries to see into the compartment. “Usually, you take the blade off for this,” he mutters, more to himself than Adam, “but I don’t have the tools with me.” Sarif grabs the lamp and holds it aloft so the light is more where he needs it. 

Ah, there. He sees the yellow stamp of _Sarif Industries_ and beside it the number 023455862045. Fuck. It’s not one of his. 

His face must betray him because Adam says, “You’re sure?”

Sarif sighs and puts down the lamp. “I don’t have serial numbers memorized for specific augments, not even for my own, but we used to categorize augments by a three-digit code at the end of the serial number, separated by a dash. Military-grade augs, like yours, were 085, specialty augs like mine were 082. There’s no dash, no three-digit code. I’d guess this number means something to someone, but not to me.”

Adam closes his eyes. “Fuck…” he says lowly, horror in his voice. 

“Yeah.” Sarif steps back from Adam, watching him process.

Adam retracts his blade with a sudden _snap_ and his hands curl into fists. He looks at Sarif, something dark stretching across his face. “Could they actually do that?”

Sarif gives a grim nod. “You can look for that ending code on any of your external augs to confirm, but you’d have to have x-rays to check the internal ones.”

“So, my infolink _is_ compromised,” Adam states, anger returning to his voice.

“I’d say so. Though…” Sarif trails off, thinking.

“What?”

“Well, the cochlear and vocal implants are very delicate and difficult surgeries, but the microprocessor that communicates with the infolink’s biochip antenna and those implants is near the surface of your skin, just behind your ear.—” Sarif touches the area on his own head where his infolink processor is, “—That would be far easier to replace with one that could…mirror your calls to someone else. Which would mean that you could simply replace it again and your infolink would be secure. 

“This is a supposition, of course. You’d have to have someone cut you open to check the processor and they’d have to know how to test it for irregularities in its logic. You’d also have to locate a compatible replacement processor. Not impossible, but difficult these days.”

Adam considers Sarif’s words for a moment. “My guy could probably do that.”

“Then you should see him as soon as you get back to Prague. When’a you leavin’?”

“Probably tomorrow—” Adam shakes his head in annoyance, it’s long after midnight now, “—today, but I’m not sure. Miller’s still recovering.”

“You got someplace to stay? I can call down to the front desk and get you a room.”

“London division has a few places for us to crash.” Adam hesitates, looking like he wants to say something else. Sarif waits. “…Look, this is gonna sound strange, but can I crash here?” He gestures to the suite’s couch.

Sarif looks at Adam in some surprise and is speechless for a second. “If... that’s what you want, but I was serious about gettin’ you a room, probably be more comfortable than that thing.”

“No. I won’t sleep much anyways. I just…” Adam gives a rueful laugh. “I trust that you won’t try and stab me in the back while I sleep.”

“That’s a helluva grim declaration of life these days.” Sarif shakes his head and then shrugs. “Well, stay if you like and use the shower too.”

\- - - - -

Sarif lays on top of his comforter again, still not fully undressed, and staring at the faint outline of the ceiling illuminated by the city’s lights as he listens to the shower run. There’s something comforting about listening to the sound of the water running even though he hasn’t shared his space with another person in a long time. The few relationships he’s had over the years have faded in the face of his passion for augments and the demands of starting/running a business and he’s never particularly missed them. Even now, there aren’t regrets for those people he’s left behind, just for the company that had been taken from him. 

The pressure behind his eyes begins to ease as the painkillers swiped before Adam went into the en suite bathroom start to take effect. The restless energy from before is fading and by the time the pain does too, Sarif knows he’ll be sleep. He contemplates getting out of bed and into his pajamas, but his dress clothes aren’t uncomfortable and his energy is nearly gone. Besides, there’s a clean suit in the closet for the flight back to Detroit tomorrow so what does it matter if he changes or not? It’s not as if this would be the first time he’s fallen asleep still dressed.

He thinks he managed to briefly drift off because the sound of the shower shutting off wakes him—the sudden lack of noise pulling him back from that hazy in-between place. After a couple minutes of muffled movement, the door opens and the steam that hasn’t yet been pulled out of the room by the exhaust fan escapes in a billow. Adam steps out dressed in the bathrobe the hotel provided with the suite, carrying his soiled clothes in one arm. 

There’s a quiet huff of laughter from Adam as he glances at Sarif on the bed, still dressed and probably looking like a cheep drunk. Absently, Sarif remembers his clothes scatter all over the floor, only adding to that image. As he heads out of the room, Adam shakes his head slightly, a small smirk on his face and Sarif goes back to staring at the ceiling, sleep pulling heavily at him now. Before he closes his eyes and surrenders, Sarif thinks fleetingly, that’s he’s too old for this exploding building bullshit.


End file.
